Page 121 of The Oscar Escape
“It’s not the eight dollars. You were there. You heard what Aria said to me. You know I lied to her and to you and everyone on the island. Aria’s done with me.”
“I’m not so sure,” the man countered. “She loves you, and you love her. I was there when you renewed your vows.”
“We weren’t renewing anything. You thought we were married when you performed the ceremony.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken. I knew you weren’t married. But vows are vows, Oscar—especially when recited before a judge. Those words carry the same weight whether spoken for the first time or the twenty-first time.Words matter. Why do you think I mentioned the eight dollars for the license?”
“What?” he stammered. It was as if his brain had turned to day-old oatmeal.
“I knew you and Aria weren’t newlyweds like I know the first time we met wasn’t in that makeshift courtroom at the Sweet Escape Inn. Do the numbers one, zero, two, three sound familiar?”
Oscar rubbed the back of his neck. This conversation was all over the place. He tried to center himself. “Ten twenty-three, or October twenty-third, is my birthday. It was also what my mom named her catering business, but she—” He couldn’t say it. Instead, he stared ahead at the spot where the apples had landed around her body.
“But she died before she could make that dream a reality,” the judge finished.
Oscar surveyed the man. “Who are you? How do you know my parents? How do you know so much about my mother? My dad has never mentioned you or Havenmatch Island to me. I can’t connect the dots.”
The judge opened the box and revealed a stack of postmarked envelopes of various colors and sizes. “Your mother was a thoughtful young lady. Now, did she have a rebellious streak and get herself into some trouble as a teenager? Oh, yes,” the man said with a thread of nostalgia. He picked up the envelope on top and removed a folded sheet of worn notebook paper. “This was the first letter she wrote to me. In it, she thanked me for sentencing her to community service at the Helping Hands Community Center kitchen in Denver. I understand you’re familiar with the organization.” He handed over the piece of paper like it was a court exhibit.
“My family and our friends have volunteered there for years. That’s where my mom learned to cook.” Oscar studied the loops and curves of the handwritten note, then frowned when he came to the bottom of the page. She hadn’t signed it as Holly Abrams. She hadn’t used letters at all. She’d written four numbers.
1 0 2 3
“Why did she write those numbers? I wasn’t even born when she sent the letter,” he asked, drawing the tip of his index finger over the numerals.
“Those numbers were the last four digits of her juvenile case number. Your father’s were one, zero, one, nine. Your mother’s were one, zero, two, three.”
Oscar would have sworn his heart had stopped beating if he wasn’t still sitting upright.
Now he understood.
“You were the judge who sentenced them to mandatory community service at Helping Hands.”
“That’s correct. I told you I was on the bench in Denver. As you can see, my favorite delinquent kept in touch with me,” he said lovingly. He thumbed through the stack and selected an envelope with a photograph of a baby inside. “That’s you. That’s your birth announcement. Your mother couldn’t believe you were born on October twenty-third.”
“One, zero, two, three,” Oscar whispered. He’d always figured it was special to his mother because it was his birthday. But it meant so much more to her. He could recall her making the number with a stick in the dirt near the stream. She’d pressed her finger to the wet Lighthouse Beach sand to draw the numerals on their trip.
“I’d like to show you another letter.” The judge plucked an envelope from the very bottom of the stack. With great care, he removed a piece of lined paper with a photo tucked inside the folds. “Your mom took this picture of us on the ferry on your first visit to Havenmatch Island,” he explained, passing him the picture.
Oscar held it with a trembling hand as snippets of that long-ago boat ride resurfaced. “You were the ferry captain. You let me steer the boat.”
The judge gifted him with a jowly grin. “That’s the day we met. I’d invited your mother to visit Havenmatch Island after receiving a call from her. She’d said she was at a crossroads in her life. Your dad was becoming a part of your life, and you were getting older. She wanted to be the kind of person you could look up to. She wanted to start cooking again. But she wasn’t sure how to go about it. Chef hours are grueling, and she still wanted to be there for you. She loved you so much and wanted you to see her as someone who followed their dreams. She needed some clarity. She told me she needed an escape.”
“Escape?” Oscar uttered.
“Yes, so I told her the two of you should come to the island and stay at the Sweet Escape Inn.”
“That picture came with the last letter I received from her. It was sent to my home on the island, but I believe her words were meant for you as much as they were meant for me. She wrote it on the last day of your vacation, then mailed it from Denver.”
Oscar peered at the photo and the lined sheet of paper. “I remember she had a journal—a notebook with her. She’d write in it at night and during the day while I played on the beach.”
“It’s time for you to read her words. You weren’t ready the last time you visited four years ago.”
Another surprise.
“You knew about my last visit?”
“I watched you with Del and Etta. I learned a few things on the bench, evaluating and sentencing young people. I can tell when a person is ready to change. You weren’t then. There was too much anger simmering inside you. You weren’t ready to fight for what you wanted.”
